Tag Archives: Good Friday

The Friday Men Call “Good”

A few years ago I received an invitation to prepare a Tre Ore (“Three Hours”) reflection for my parish on one of Jesus’ “seven last words” from the cross. If you are not familiar with this tradition, here is a brief explanation: https://www.catholicculture.org/culture/library/dictionary/index.cfm?id=36926 It was a great, and somewhat terrifying, privilege to be asked to offer a reflection on this solemn occasion.

To maintain sure footing during my preparations, I turned to works by Pope Benedict XVI (Jesus of Nazareth (Part Two), Holy Week: From the Entrance into Jerusalem to the Resurrection (Ignatius Press 2011)); Fr. Richard John Neuhaus (Death on a Friday Afternoon: Meditations on the Last Words of Jesus from the Cross (Basic Books 2008)); and C.S. Lewis (A Grief Observed, reprinted in The Complete C.S. Lewis Signature Classics (Harper One 2002)).

Our Easter Triduum in the year 2020 is certainly unlike any in recent memory, with our churches locked and our communities unable to assemble. If you are unable to find a Tre Ore service to stream, or if you prefer to read and reflect on your own, I offer you this meditation, and I pray that it enriches your Good Friday contemplations.

###

The sixth word: “It is finished.”

We read in the 19th chapter of John, verses 29 and 30:

There was a vessel filled with common wine. So they put a sponge soaked in wine on a sprig of hyssop and put it up to his mouth. When Jesus had taken the wine, he said, “It is finished.” And bowing his head, he handed over the spirit.

What “is finished”? From one perspective “it” is indeed finished; from another, “it” will never be finished.

###

The catechism tells us Christ’s death on the cross is “the fulfillment of man’s salvation.” 

Or, put more simply, in the cross . . . is life.

“It is finished” means that what was proclaimed at the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan – “behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” – has now come to fruition. In a manner known only to God, “the sin of the world” has been taken away. 

Sometimes it’s useful to go back to the source. In this case, it’s the Greek word “tetélestai,” used by the Gospel writer John, and translated into English as, “It is finished.” Examining this word, Pope Benedict XVI has written,

“[Jesus] has truly gone right to the end, to the very limit and even beyond that limit. He has accomplished the utter fullness of love – he has given himself.”

Or, in the words of Fr. Richard John Neuhaus,

“Now humanity can never again be alienated from God. . . . Humanity, our humanity, is eternally one with the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. God has invested his very being in the human project, and therefore it cannot finally fail.”

In this most important sense, then, it is truly finished. God himself took on our flesh, bore our sins, and died for love of us.

###

Which brings us to the flip side of this, the sixth word from the cross . . . the sense in which it will never be finished as long as human life endures.

It is difficult to ponder the cross. The temptation is to hurry past the crucifixion, to focus on resurrection . . . and the glory of eternal life in which we hope to share.

There is, however, no Easter without Good Friday. If we profess Jesus as “Lord,” then these words are for us:

“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”

How do we “take up” our crosses in imitation of Christ, and not run from them?

For help, we return to St. John, and the Greek word “tetélestai.” Pope Benedict writes:

“[A] further meaning of this same word [is] consecration, bestowal of priestly dignity, in other words, total dedication to God. . . . The Cross of Jesus replaces all other acts of worship as the one true glorification of God[.]”

The death of Christ on the cross is an act of worship.

How do we as disciples take up our crosses as an act of worship? What does that look like?

When the great Christian apologist C.S. Lewis was left shattered by the death of his wife Helen, he did not at first take up his cross willingly. His writings initially expressed rage and estrangement from God. But soon he looked back and wrote this:

“The notes have been about myself, about [Helen] and about God. In that order. The order and proportions exactly what they ought not to have been. And I see that I have nowhere fallen into that mode of thinking about either which we call praising them. Yet that would have been best for me. Praise is the mode of love which always has some element of joy in it. Praise in due order; of Him as the giver, of her as the gift. Don’t we in praise somehow enjoy what we praise, however far we are from it? I must do more of this.”

In other words, he should have worshipped. Praising God, even in affliction. Being still, acknowledging in all humility that God is God, and we are creatures. We are led to say, with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, “yet not my will but Thine be done.”

Ultimately, we are called to trust. We can do nothing else, but thanks to what Jesus finished on Good Friday, we can do this knowing that we are known, that we are loved, and that we are never abandoned.

###

“What is truth?”

As promised, and in preparation for Good Friday, the text that follows is excerpted from Pope St. John Paul II’s Good Friday 2000 meditation on the First Station of the Cross – Jesus Is Condemned to Death, wherein Pontius Pilate asks the revealing question, “What is truth?”:

“Are you the King of the Jews?” (Jn 18:33).
“My Kingdom is not of this world; if my Kingdom were of this world, my servants would fight, that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my Kingdom is not from the world” (Jn 18:36).

Pilate said to him:
– “So you are a king?”
Jesus answered:
– “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.”
Pilate said in answer:
“What is truth?”.
At this point, the Roman Procurator saw no need for further questions. He went to the Jews and told them: “I find no crime in him” (cf. Jn 18:37-38).
The tragedy of Pilate is hidden in the question: What is truth?

This was no philosophical question about the nature of truth, but an existential question about his own relationship with truth. It was an attempt to escape from the voice of conscience, which was pressing him to acknowledge the truth and follow it. When someone refuses to be guided by truth he is ultimately ready even to condemn an innocent person to death.
The accusers sense this weakness in Pilate and so do not yield. They relentlessly call for death by crucifixion. Pilate’s attempts at half measures are of no avail. The cruel punishment of scourging inflicted upon the Accused is not enough. When the Procurator brings Jesus, scourged and crowned with thorns, before the crowd, he seems to be looking for words which he thinks might soften the intransigence of the mob.

Pointing to Jesus he says: Ecce homo! Behold the man!
But the answer comes back: “Crucify him, crucify him!”
Pilate then tries to buy time: “Take him yourselves and crucify him, for I find no crime in him” (Jn 19:5-7).
He is increasingly convinced that the Accused is innocent, but this is not enough for him to decide in his favour.
The accusers use their final argument: “If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar; everyone who makes himself a king sets himself against Caesar” (Jn 19:12).

This is clearly a threat. Recognizing the danger, Pilate finally gives in and pronounces the sentence. But not without the contemptuous gesture of washing his hands: “I am innocent of this … blood; see to it yourselves!” (Mt 27:24).

Thus was Jesus, the Son of the living God, the Redeemer of the world, condemned to death by crucifixion.
Over the centuries the denial of truth has spawned suffering and death.
It is the innocent who pay the price of human hypocrisy.
Half measures are never enough. Nor is it enough to wash one’s hands.
Responsibility for the blood of the just remains.
This is why Christ prayed so fervently for his disciples in every age:
Father, “sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth” (Jn 17:17).

http://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/speeches/2000/apr-jun/documents/hf_jp-ii_spe_20000421_via-crucis.html

The Most Important Day of the Year

Did you miss it? I mostly did, because its full significance was not known to me.

I’m referring to March 25, the Solemnity of the Annunciation, a date so packed with meaning that I find it staggering. But I didn’t have a full appreciation of it until very recently.

More than a month ago I read an article by our local Ordinary, praising the book Annunciation: A Call to Faith in a Broken World, by Sally Read (Ignatius Press 2019). It’s not often that a successor to the Apostles writes an extended commentary on a new book, and he had my attention. Read is a poet, nurse, and one-time atheist whose conversion story is told in the memoir Night’s Bright Darkness (Ignatius Press 2016). Her prose is lyrical (as befits a poet) and not unlike that of the late British mystic Caryll Houselander (The Reed of God). Annunciation is an extended love-letter to Read’s young daughter; as it unfolds it unpacks the spiritual treasures of the encounter between Mary and the Archangel Gabriel, detailed in Luke 1:26-38. As Read writes, “The Annunciation is an invitation to a deeper relationship with God for each and every one of us.” Her book, which I have almost finished, is a winsome companion along the path toward that deeper relationship.

I set Annunciation aside for a few weeks. Then, the COVID-19 pandemic confined us to our homes, leading to a quiet and isolated celebration of the Solemnity of the Annunciation on March 25. I confess that the celebration did not make a tremendous impact on me at the time. Still, this site launched the following day, and its first two posts were informed by the Annunciation.

Over the weekend, I belatedly encountered an article about Italy’s celebration of the first-ever “Dante Day” — March 25. According to the article, this date is neither the date of the poet’s birth, nor that of his death. Rather, it is the date the poet enters Hell in Inferno : Good Friday.

Good Friday? I thought March 25 was the Annunciation? Clearly, there is much about this date to unpack. According to the National Catholic Register, citing The Spirit of the Liturgy, by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI):

  • Jewish tradition held March 25 to be the date of Abraham’s sacrifice;
  • March 25 was also regarded as the date of creation (as in, “Let there be light”);
  • Because early Christians followed Jewish tradition, they also found it “fitting” that March 25 should be observed as the date of Christ’s conception, and subsequently observed also as the date of His crucifixion.

Read the whole article here: https://www.ncregister.com/daily-news/italy-marks-first-dante-day-under-coronavirus-lockdown 

I have also learned that we needn’t reach all the way back to 14th century Italy for a literary appreciation of March 25. For example, in The Lord of the Rings, what many regard as the greatest work of fiction of the 20th century, and a work deeply informed by the author’s Catholic faith, J.R.R. Tolkien tells us in an appendix that on March 25, “Gollum seizes the Ring and falls in the Cracks of Doom. [This date also sees the] Downfall of Barad-dûr and passing of Sauron.” Thus does good triumph over evil, and Middle Earth is saved.

One final note: For those of you who use the Magnificat devotional magazine, you will see that today’s saint (the daily “Saint Who?” feature) is Saint Dismas, “The Good Thief” (Lk. 23:39-43), whose feast day is . . . March 25.